


Carry Your Throne

by anirondack, mochroimanam



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anirondack/pseuds/anirondack, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochroimanam/pseuds/mochroimanam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan's heart constricts painfully. He's got the urge to pull Gansey upright and shake him until he snaps out of this, and he tries to steady himself. He pulls Gansey's head forward until his forehead is resting heavily against Ronan's hip, and squeezes the back of Gansey's neck again, massaging the tense muscles with broad sweeps of his thumb. His other hand runs over Gansey's scalp, the same way he brushes his hand over Chainsaw's feathers. As always, words get caught in his throat without making it to his lips, and he tries to transmit them in the movements of his hands. <i>I've got you. You’re alright.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry Your Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pvwork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pvwork/gifts).



> In this verse, Gansey and Ronan have been engaging in nonsexual kink for a while with Gansey topping Ronan to help Ronan deal with his demons. Rest assured they've already had the necessary conversations about limits and all that jazz before this fic takes place.

It happens because Adam forgets his textbook. 

Ronan, Gansey, and Adam are halfway to the parking lot of Aglionby after a fairly unproductive seventh period study hall. Gansey's waxing poetic about his latest bit of research, something about the frequency of hereditary angioedema in Welsh monarchy that Ronan's only half listening to, when Adam stops short. 

"I forgot my book," he says apologetically, hands shoved deep in his pockets to ward off the chill autumnal wind blowing across the campus grounds. The Hondayota is currently out of commission, so Adam had accepted a ride to school in the Pig with them. 

"No problem," Gansey says easily. "We'll pull the car around front, if you want–"

"I'll go with Parrish," Ronan interrupts, mainly because if he doesn't have Adam as a buffer, he’ll have to actually pay attention to the lecture Gansey's giving. 

Gansey looks startled for a moment, and then inclines his head, fingers wrapping around the strap of his messenger bag. "I'll bring it around, then. Meet me at the front gates." 

Adam's hands are still buried in his pockets, so Gansey bumps their elbows together, then sets off toward the parking lot. Ronan watches him leave for a moment, then turns and heads back through the double doors. Adam has to trot a little to catch up with him. "Sorry," he says quietly.

Ronan shrugs one shoulder. "Clearly unforgivable. How dare you make me stay in this hellhole for thirty extra seconds." He bumps Adam's shoulder with his, harder than Gansey had but with the same air of camaraderie. 

The school is pleasantly empty; most Aglionby students are out of the lecture halls the second they're allowed, if not earlier. There are a few stragglers who eye them warily as they pass, but it doesn't take long at all for Adam to find his textbook and stuff it into his bag. Ronan grouses about the amount of homework they have tonight as they head toward the other exit, which is closer to the front gates. 

Voices echo from around the corner, as they turn it a body flies abruptly across Ronan’s vision, smacking into the wall with a low grunt. Ronan is instantly on guard, and Adam's hand moves to the strap of his bag, ready to throw it off if he needs to.

The figure that crashed into the wall springs up almost immediately, and Ronan's mouth fills with the taste of gasoline fumes and split lips. Skov stands before them, gaunt and bloodshot and clearly tweaking, his fists clenching and unclenching sporadically as he faces his opponent. Jiang cracks his neck, eyes narrowing as he glances toward the interruption. 

Ronan can pinpoint the second they realize it's him, because an electric current seems to roll through both their bodies, sending a harsh jolt of anticipation through Ronan in return. Since Kavinsky died, he's given the remnants of his destroyed pack a wide berth, for his sake and theirs. It was only a matter of time before they collided, though, and Ronan curls his lip, solidifying his stance.

"Lynch," Skov purrs, in a way that would be nearly flirtatious if his eyes weren't filled with uncensored loathing. 

"Skov," Ronan spits back. "Jiang." He wants to brush past them, but none of them move. Skov and Jiang stare at Ronan and Ronan's eyes dart back and forth between them.

After a long moment of tense silence, Adam reaches out and grabs Ronan's arm. "Let's go, Ronan." Ronan twitches and nearly pulls away from the touch. "Gansey'll be at the gate by now."

"That's right," Jiang says scornfully, and pushes forward into Ronan's space until his chest is nearly brushing Ronan's. "Run back to your _master_." 

Ronan tilts his head, meeting Jiang's eyes with his sharpest barbed gaze. He can feel Adam tugging at his arm, urging him back, but Ronan's senses are filled with undistilled sensory memory and the scent of sweat beneath Jiang's expensive cologne. Jiang's built much more solidly than Ronan, but Ronan knows he can take him in a fight. He's done it before. Skov's a bit more of a wild card; especially when he's spun out, and Ronan keeps track of his jittery movements in the corner of his eye. 

Ronan raises his hands and presses his palms to Jiang's chest, forcing him back a step. Anticipatory tension is curling so tightly in his body that it's nearly painful. "Get the fuck out of my way."

That earns him a harder shove back and Jiang advances on him again. His eyes are bright with hatred, an expression that Ronan sees in himself sometimes, usually after running into Declan. "Your owner doesn't like it when you fight," he hisses. "So why don't you turn around before you have something to show for it?"

Skov is suddenly hovering by Ronan’s elbow, fingers twitching against his pocket. The fumes on his breath are strong enough to tell Ronan he’s drunk as well as high. Adam tugs Ronan's arm again, to the side instead of backwards, and says, "Ronan. Come on. It's not worth it. Let's just go."

A dozen harsh retorts spring to Ronan's lips, poised and ready to deploy, but something aside from Adam's hand reigns him back. A dozen white Mitsubishis explode into flame in his mind's eye, and it's difficult to hold back his flinch. He settles for a muttered “Fuck off” and sidesteps Jiang, Adam following closely behind as he shoves past both of them. 

Skov follows their movement, letting out a feral grunt as he spins, and Ronan hears the unmistakable flick of the switchblade he pulls from his pocket a second too late. The knife slices wildly through the air, aimed terribly but with desperate intent to wound, and Ronan shouts in warning, stumbling backward and grabbing for Adam. Adam throws an arm out across Ronan's chest, roughly shoving him back, just out of the path of the knife. Ronan stumbles into the wall and Skov advances on him like he can't really see Ronan so much as the concept of Ronan. 

Adam looks slightly panicked as he shoves hard at Ronan's arm. "Come on, let's go, let's _go_ –"

Jiang's eyes have gone slightly wider with the implication of actual bloodshed and he reaches out to catch Skov's shoulder, but Skov snarls and slashes the knife at him, and Jiang shouts in pain as the blade glances off of his knuckles. Ronan can taste his pulse in his mouth as he sees startlingly red blood appear on the blade. 

"Reign him in!" he shouts to Jiang; Skov is clearly too far out of his head to stop himself. He comes at them like a rabid dog, even as Adam and Ronan wheel backward down the hall, unwilling to turn their backs on him. 

But Skov's got the erratic speed and strength of a meth head and he's right on their heels, slashing forward again. Adam grunts and jerks backward as the blade connects with the flesh of his arm and Ronan's head spins with alarm and fury. Ronan abruptly stops his backward movement and slams the flat of his hand toward Skov's wrist, narrowly missing getting his palm cut open. Skov hisses as the knife clatters to the floor, and Ronan kicks it away, then lands a solid punch to Skov's jaw. 

Skov stumbles back and drops low, rushing forward to tackle Ronan around the waist. He's still dazed from the punch, so it's not as hard as it could have been, and Ronan manages to stay upright, taking a few steps back with a loud grunt as the air is forced out of him. He reaches for Skov, but Skov is already being yanked backwards, pinwheeling his arms and shouting something indistinct as Jiang rips him away by the collar of his shirt. 

"Ronan!"

All four of them freeze and turn mechanically toward the end of the hallway, where Gansey is standing. He looks taller than usual, a hard expression on his face that only gets harder as his eyes move from Ronan to Skov to Jiang and back. 

"I called campus security," Gansey says icily. "They know your names. They're coming."

Jiang breathes out a curse and jerks Skov back another half a foot. He glances at Ronan, like he would apologize if Ronan were anybody else, and then he turns, picks up the knife, and drags Skov back down the hall as fast as he can with Skov still struggling and cursing at him.

Ronan lets out a hard breath and rests his hand on the wall for a moment. "Ronan," Gansey repeats, striding quickly to his side. "What were you thinking? You're on the brink of expulsion as it is. If faculty saw you brawling in the hallway -"

The sharp disapproval in his tone makes Ronan's hackles rise, and he spits out, "Save it. Parrish is hurt." 

Gansey's expression shifts immediately from irritation to concern, and his gaze snaps to Adam, who's leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway. Adam's got a hand clamped over his bicep, and he pulls his fingers away gingerly, revealing a two inch-long gash in his arm. His hand is covered in blood. 

"Jesus," Gansey breathes, as Ronan’s body trickles with cold fear. 

Adam looks up, a bit paler than usual. "It's fine. It's not deep enough to need stitches." His eyes are shadowed with pain, though, and Gansey carefully takes his arm to examine the cut more closely. His face is ashen.

"Bathroom," Ronan says, still catching his breath, and points to the door down the hall, even though they all know where it is. "You need to rinse it."

Adam nods and pushes himself up against the wall. Gansey reaches out to help him, but Adam just mutters, "It's fine," and shoves his shoulder bag into Gansey's chest. He looks steady enough as he walks toward the bathroom, but it's hard to resist the temptation to hover behind him. Gansey looks at Ronan, who looks back with an air of discontent, and then they follow Adam into the single bathroom.

Adam is already shirtless when they come in, his sweater and shirt and tie lying on the ground. Ronan can see blood staining the rip in the arm - the rip is much bigger than the cut itself, but the blood looks impressively dangerous. "Bastard cut my shirt," Adam says unnecessarily, dipping his shoulder to get his arm in the sink. The water runs pink for a moment.

"Are you sure that doesn't need stitches?" Gansey asks. He’s leaning against the bathroom wall, staring at Adam's arm like the skin will knit itself back together. "You should really get that checked out. Who knows what sort of things Skov uses that knife for?"

Ronan watches out of the corner of his eye as Adam gathers up a handful of soap and methodically washes the cut with an ease that speaks of practice. Adam shakes his head. "This will be fine. I've got some antiseptic and bandages at home." 

In the mirror, Ronan can see Gansey making the face he makes when he's struggling with wording something in a way that won't start a fight. "You might need oral antibiotics, though. Just in case." Ronan doesn't entirely disagree with him - he wouldn't trust a tweaker with even the most basic hygiene practices - but he keeps his mouth shut. 

Adam shakes his head again, shaking off his arm and pressing a handful of paper towels to the cut. He reaches for his shirt and then meets Gansey's eyes in the mirror. "I don't want to go to the ER, Gansey. Just take me home." 

Gansey's fingers tighten on the strap of Adam's bag and he holds Adam's gaze for a moment, then drops it, shoulders slumping minutely. "Alright."

There's no sign of campus security, or of Skov and Jiang, as they head out to the Pig. Adam climbs in the backseat, clothing mussed, paper towels still held to his arm, and doesn't say a word as Gansey starts the car. 

"What were you even doing, talking to them?" Gansey asks Ronan in a low voice, and Ronan glares out the window, propping his boots up on the dash in the way he knows Gansey hates. 

"I wasn't _talking_ to them. They were talking to _me_."

"Neither of you were talking to each other, you were punching him in the face," Gansey says. "Why didn't you just leave? How could you think that being anywhere near them would be anything but a terrible idea?"

"I didn't _hunt them out_ ," Ronan shoots back. "Me and Parrish were minding our own damn business and then Skov comes flying across the hall and the two of them started shit. I didn't say fuck all to them except for their names."

"That's true," Adam says quietly from the back seat. "Jiang started it. Skov escalated it. It wasn't Ronan’s fault."

Ronan catches his eye in the rearview mirror with an expression that's a little bit pleased but mostly still angry.

Gansey opens his mouth and then closes it. His fingers are very tight on the leather of the steering wheel. Something flickers across his face and then is gone again. "I see," he says finally. "I'm sorry for making assumptions, Ronan." 

Ronan grunts and shifts his gaze out the window, eyes narrowed. He thinks about Skov and Jiang and Swan and then he has to force himself to stop thinking about them, because his thoughts skitter over Proko and Kavinsky and his gut twists with nausea. He drums his fingers in a harsh staccato pattern against his knee. He doesn't say anything or look at either of them as they drop Adam off at the church, the inside of the car still thick with tension. 

The second Gansey parks the Pig in the lot outside Monmouth, Ronan is out of the car and sweeping up the stairs. He doesn't even bother to reach for his keys, just forces the lock and pushes his way in, and the door bangs shut behind him. 

Ronan goes straight to the bathroom, strips, and gets into the shower. He turns the water up as hot as the leaky spigot will allow him to in the hopes that he can boil away the residual fury shooting through him. Instead, it makes the black tar of his anger bubble up even more. _Fuck Skov for being a junkie bastard. Fuck Jiang for riling him up. Fuck Kavinsky for everything, fuck him especially killing himself._

Since the Fourth, there've been lot of times that Ronan has felt this destructive. Without racing or alcohol or Kavinsky as an outlet, he's been caught in the bear trap of his own mind far too often. Gansey’s been there through the worst of it, and has helped Ronan cope far more often than he probably deserves. 

Ronan shuts off the water and towels himself off far more roughly than necessary. As he passes through the main room on the way to his bedroom, his eyes flicker to Gansey at his desk. Ronan's still too furious at the world for existing to even consider talking to him, although the way Gansey's shoulders are curling inward toward his chest, like his lungs are slowly deflating, makes something tug painfully in Ronan's chest. He ignores it and slams his door behind him and shoves his headphones over his ears and puts on music that's as vile and chaotic as the thoughts leaking into his brain. 

Possibilities curl like poison around the stark red memory of Adam's palm coated in blood. Fury keeps leading him into the same dead ends until he's throwing himself at brick walls in his head, wishing he could feel the impact in real life. After thirty minutes it's unbearable. After an hour he's too far gone to pretend he's got the dignity not to ask for help with it any longer. He thinks of Gansey's steady voice, strong hands on his shoulders, levering him down, forcefully driving everything extraneous from him, and he _wants_. 

But when he opens his door, Gansey is still at his desk, and doesn't look up at him at all. His hands are clenched by his head as he stares unseeingly down at the wood grain, and a fresh flicker of unease goes through Ronan. He stops a few feet into the room, more unsure of himself than he's been in a while. "Gansey."

Gansey twitches violently at the sudden noise and jerks himself away from the source. He looks up and tries to school his face into something like disinterested calm, but it's _Ronan_ , who doesn't give a shit about what Gansey pretends to be. The mask seems to be cracked anyway, because his face shifts almost imperceptibly into an expression that betrays how upset he actually is. "Ronan." 

Nearly all of the chaotic desperation swirling through Ronan is upended violently by the way Gansey's holding himself. There's a frailty to him, an almost fearful uncertainty that Ronan recognizes all too well, and seeing it in Gansey means things are worse off than he realized. Even the way Gansey says his name is wrong, hoarse and unintentionally questioning, and Ronan takes another few steps forward without realizing it. His heart is suddenly pounding like he's watching a truck barreling into his lane and he tilts his head to the side, forcing in a long inhale and slow exhale.

His body hesitates as his mind tries to decide where to go: his base instinct wants him to be next to Gansey, touching him, reassuring himself of his solidity; fear wants him to hide away from the rawness, shut himself back in his room; anger wants him to spin on his heel and leave the building and drive until he can't feel anything anymore. His eyes ask what his mouth can't - _what is it? what's happening?_

Gansey opens his mouth, but only a sharp breath comes out. He scrubs a hand over his face and turns back to his desk, forehead in his hands. "They'll make him sick," he confesses to Ronan. His voice sounds far away from himself. "He won't get checked out and it'll make him sick. What if something goes wrong and he can't work or go to school anymore? He'd let himself go on the street before–" There's a loud bang and it seems like it takes Gansey a second to realize that it was him, slamming his hand onto the wood. "They already tried to take you away, why are they trying to take him too?"

This is all wrong.

When Gansey is on the verge of panicking, he gets very quiet and still and focused on his breathing. Sometimes, more rarely, the attacks catch him by surprise, occasionally in the middle of a sentence; but the symptoms are always the same, a gradual crash into near soundless hyperventilation, hands held to his ears and shoulders hunched. Ronan hates Gansey's panic attacks, but he knows how to handle them.

This is wrong. This is more. This is uglier, and fear hits Ronan hard in the gut, deep down where he can't hide it from his face.

Gansey's not watching his face, though. Gansey's crumpling in on himself, an edge of hysteria to his voice and movements that Ronan is nearly debilitated by. 

He moves toward Gansey, feeling like he's approaching a live bomb, until he's only a few feet away. "Parrish will be fine. First sign of infection and I'll strap him down and take him in myself," Ronan says forcefully. He shifts from foot to foot, and more quietly, adds, "They didn't take me."

"They wanted to," Gansey says softly. "When it mattered, they wanted to." Which Ronan supposes is true enough. None of them know if Jiang or Skov or Swan ever really cared about Ronan. But Kavinsky had wanted him, so they all had.

"He won't be fine, though, will he?” Gansey continues, voice tense and thick with something like fear. “You're just saying that. You don't know. I should've made him come with me, I should –" Gansey stands up abruptly from his chair, swaying as he reaches for his keys. 

"Gansey," Ronan says again, sharply. He steps forward and shoots his hand in front of Gansey's, blocking him off from the Camaro's keys. He has the urge to grab Gansey's wrist, but isn't sure whether touching him will make things worse. He should know. He hates that he doesn't know. This Gansey is a stranger to Ronan and it makes the helpless anger hurling itself against his ribs crash into him even harder. "Stop it. He's fine."

"You don't _know_ ," Gansey says, a little desperately. "You think Skov washes his knives after he stabs people? You think God would cut Adam a break from being screwed over?" He holds out his hand. "I need to – I need to. Give me my keys."

"You _need_ to sit the hell down," Ronan snaps, pulling the fist that's holding Gansey's keys further out of his reach. He tries to catch Gansey's eyes, but his gaze is skittering around the room in a way that shows Ronan how much he's lost control. Even the few times Ronan's seen Gansey cry, he's had a stoniness about him that Ronan suspects comes from growing up in a family where every strong emotion has to be cloaked in layers of politeness or kept shut away tightly behind closed doors. Gansey appearing this outwardly manic and emotional speaks louder than anything he's saying. "Even if you left, Parrish wouldn't let you take him anywhere."

"I _know_ ,” Gansey says, eyes wide and blazing with panic. “I know he would rather die than let me help him, do you think I don't know that? Do you think I haven't been accidentally walking into that particular trap for the last two years? _Give me my keys_."

He looks angry, which is more disarming than anything else: Gansey doesn’t get angry this way. The hand reaching for the keys is shaking.

"No," Ronan says firmly. The more Gansey falls apart, the more Ronan feels like he's disintegrating too. He forces iron into his spine, channeling the churning anger and fear into an immovable object that Gansey can't shove past. The teeth of the keys cut into Ronan's palm with how hard he's gripping them. " _No_. Sit down."

Gansey sits down.

He doesn't look like he really means to, but one minute he's staring Ronan down and the next he's in his chair. Ronan's not sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't for Gansey to immediately drop into his chair and look up at him like Ronan's watching him from over the edge of the ship he'd fallen from.

Ronan doesn't know how to survive these dark waters any better than Gansey does, but with the way Gansey's looking at him, he'd better start coming up with lifelines. "Good," Ronan says, unnecessarily. He's equal parts terrified and floored. Part of him is still desperate to bend his head to Gansey, to feel Gansey's strong fingers along the back of his neck, but the rest of him has realized that's off the table, and he needs to land on his feet so they don’t both drown. "You're not going anywhere tonight. You're sitting here until you calm the hell down."

Gansey's eyes flash and he grits his teeth, but he doesn't get up. "How am I supposed to –" Gansey breaks off, glancing at the Pig’s keys, which are poking out of Ronan’s clenched fist. "What if–"

Ronan watches him cycle through thoughts and come up with nothing again and again. He looks like he’s nearly vibrating out of his chair with frenetic energy, whites of his eyes flashing, his glasses lying forgotten on the desk. It's like looking in a fucking mirror, and Ronan's not sure what to do with that realization. 

He considers, then reaches his hand out, slowly enough that Gansey can see it coming, and lets it come to rest lightly on Gansey's shoulder. That gets his attention, finally, and Ronan meets his eyes. "Focus. Tell me what you need."

"I don't know," Gansey admits miserably. "I don't know what to do." He worries at the watch band around his wrist, picking at the clasp. It gets under his nails and he winces a little as it jams into soft skin. "I don't know what to do," he whispers again. "Tell me. He doesn’t hate it when you try to help. Tell me what I'm supposed to do."

Ronan's fingers tighten a little on Gansey's shoulder. He doesn't know what to tell him. Ronan never knows what the fuck to do when he himself is like this, which is why he's come to rely so much on Gansey being his compass. Gansey is the one who gives guidance and direction, not him.

But this is what Gansey needs. Which means this is something Ronan can do for him.

He sets the keys down on the desk very deliberately. The rattle of metal on wood seems very loud in the expansive space of the warehouse. 

"You're not supposed to be doing anything," Ronan tells him, voice still firm. "All you need to do is be right here, right now." He can feel how far away the orbit of Gansey's anxiety has taken him, and he knows he needs to find a way to ground him before he's completely lost. He squeezes Gansey's shoulder again, harder this time. “Take a deep breath. The way I know you can."

Gansey lowers his gaze a little and tilts his head against Ronan's arm. He takes a long, slow breath through his nose and it forces itself out sharply through his mouth. He eyes the keys, but doesn't reach for them. He takes another breath. It doesn't seem to help, but he does it.

Encouraged by the way Gansey's leaning into him and listening to him, Ronan lifts his hand, letting his fingers run through the hair at Gansey's crown. His hand slides down to rest around the base of his skull and squeezes. "Good. Again."

Gansey breathes again and his hands twitch a little. He can’t seem to sit still - every part of his body is bursting to move, and even his rigid self-control can’t stop it all. He peers up at Ronan, nostrils flaring, and his eyes are desperate.

Ronan's heart constricts painfully. He's got the urge to pull Gansey upright and shake him until he snaps out of this, and he tries to steady himself. He pulls Gansey's head forward until his forehead is resting heavily against Ronan's hip, and squeezes the back of Gansey's neck again, massaging the tense muscles with broad sweeps of his thumb. His other hand runs over Gansey's scalp, the same way he brushes his hand over Chainsaw's feathers. As always, words get caught in his throat without making it to his lips, and he tries to transmit them in the movements of his hands. _I've got you. You’re alright_.

Gansey's hands rise of their own accord, gripping the backs of Ronan's thighs tightly. "I can't stop," he tells Ronan's jeans. "Over and over in my head - ” He gasps quietly and buries his face in Ronan's hip. "I can't, I have to – I _can't_ – "

Ronan suppresses a flinch at the way Gansey's voice breaks. He's gearing up for a full-scale panic attack, and Ronan's not sure he'll be able to hold his shit together if that happens. "Gansey," Ronan says, urgent and a hundred times more commanding than he feels. "Stop." Adrenaline rushing through him, he tightens his fingers in Gansey's hair until he knows the sensation will border on pain, and grips the back of Gansey's neck hard. "Fucking stay with me and listen. Take another slow breath. Now."

Gansey forces air into his lungs. It doesn't stay for very long, but Ronan tells him to do it again, so he does. He clings tightly to Ronan's legs, nails digging into the denim, and the next breath is hard too, but Ronan tugs on his hair a little and a gasp out of pain is still breathing, even if it hurts.

"Better," Ronan says, softer now that this seems to be working. Gansey's fingers are gripping his thighs painfully tight and it's steadying. "Keep going. Five breaths for me." 

He breathes in too, audibly enough that he hopes Gansey will try to match him, which has been helpful in the past. Ronan counts them silently. One is hard, and two and three aren't particularly easy either, but the last two come out without Gansey’s chest hitching or his throat clenching, so Ronan counts it as a victory. He strokes the back of Gansey’s neck idly and when Gansey finishes, he looks up and quietly says, “Five.”

"See, you've got this," Ronan tells him. He eases his hand out of Gansey's hair and skims the tips of his fingers over his scalp and down the side of his face to lightly press into his jaw. His own fear is dropping away, replaced by a sense of utter focus. "Lean back now. Don't stop breathing like that." He moves the hand on Gansey's neck to his shoulder to urge him lightly backward. Gansey lets himself be moved until his shoulders hit the hard backrest of his desk chair. 

He still looks just as miserable and uncomfortable as he did before, if a bit less on the verge of combustion. Ronan chews his lip, thinking about the things Gansey does when their positions are reversed, and then drops down, grasping one of Gansey's shoes and pulling it off. He repeats the action with the other, and then looks up at Gansey, resting a hand on his thigh. "Can you stand?"

Gansey nods. He brushes his fingers over the tendons of Ronan's hand, then levels himself upright with one hand on the desk. He stands quietly as Ronan gets up with a muffled groan, and leans toward him a little. "Why?"

Ronan doesn't reply, just reaches down to grasp the edge of Gansey's sweater and pull it up. He waits for Gansey to raise his arms, then pulls it the rest of the way off. Gansey's face is blotchy with heat and emotion, and Ronan's fingers go to nimbly undo the buttons of his shirt. When he's finished, he pushes the shirt from Gansey's shoulders and drops it to the desk on top of the sweater. Then he reaches for Gansey's hands and circles his fingers around the fine bones of his wrists. Operating purely on instinct, Ronan squeezes, and pulls Gansey forward so his forehead is resting on Ronan's shoulder. He'll make Gansey go sit down on the bed before he collapses in a second, but for now, Ronan just wants to feel him. "Better, at all?"

Gansey nods again, just a little, and then says, "Yes," out loud after a moment, because he must know that Ronan will want hear it. His heartbeat drums against Ronan's hands, but Ronan's grip on his wrists leaves little room for anything at all other than standing there. Ronan recognizes the look of relief that flits across his face, like looking at himself from the outside.

His fingers tighten a little more and he turns his head, brushing the ghost of a kiss across Gansey's temple. They stand there for a few moments longer, but Ronan can feel the fine tremors of Gansey's legs shaking, so eventually he pulls back and releases Gansey's wrists. He tilts Gansey's head up with fingers gently pressing his chin so that he can see Ronan's face. "Take your pants off and go sit on the bed. I'll be there in a second."

"Okay." Maybe to Gansey it seems like an odd thing to do, but it is a _thing to do_ , so he quietly undoes his belt and kicks his Aglionby uniform pants onto the ground. After half a second, he toes his socks off as well and makes an aborted grab for them, to fold them up or at least pick them up off the ground, but Ronan hadn't told him to and the Gansey of the moment seems lost without direction, so he just retreats silently to the bed. He sits on the very edge of it, staring at nothing and picking his nails down to the quick.

Ronan goes to his room and kicks off his own jeans and changes into a loose tank top, then goes back out to Gansey's dresser and grabs a soft shirt in case he wants it later. Finally, he gets a water bottle from the kitchen and moves to Gansey's bed, sitting down next to him and handing him the bottle. He rests his hand on the small of Gansey's back, because he still looks like he might topple over at any second.

Gansey opens the bottle on the second try and takes a couple of small sips. He only takes the water level in the bottle down a couple of inches before he hands it back to Ronan, and then seems to realize that he's still clutching the cap, so he hands that back too. Despite the warm autumn air that pervades Monmouth, he's shivering a little.

Ronan caps the bottle and sets it on the floor. He's still freaked out by the way Gansey's acting, but the edge of the feeling has been replaced by a sense of assurance that he's not at all familiar with. "You're doing fine," he reminds Gansey. He digs his fingers into Gansey's lower back a little, massaging the tense muscles, and reaches out to lace his fingers through Gansey's other hand. Gansey's fingers tighten around Ronan's immediately. Ronan’s rarely this physically affectionate, except for the times right after Gansey's helped him calm his own brain down, but it feels right, and he knows touch has a grounding effect on Gansey. 

"Ronan," Gansey says, barely above a whisper, and then he says nothing more.

Ronan's chest goes tight and he rubs his thumb hard across Gansey's knuckles. "I know," he says quietly, because he may not panic the same way Gansey does but he's still intimately familiar with the way Gansey's body is trembling with too much emotion to hold in. Ronan is shit with words, but he still needs to try. "Tell me what's in your head. Get it out." Gansey's head seems like it’s full of poison right now and Ronan doesn't know how else to exorcise it. "I'm right here."

"I can't _do_ anything," Gansey hisses. Frustration wells in his voice over fear, so Ronan's hand tightens painfully around his. "Everything I try to do is the wrong thing and I'm tired of fighting with him over things that could kill him and I don't know what to _do_." 

He stares at Ronan like Ronan might know. Ronan meets his gaze, trying to figure out how to express this in a way that won't make Gansey panic more. "He spent his whole life without the ability to make his own decisions. You have to let him make them now. Even if they're shitty decisions." He lets his fingers run up and down Gansey's spine slowly. "That's the best way you can take care of him."

Gansey makes an aborted noise in his throat and shakes his head. "It's the only way he won't hate me, isn't it? And it's so goddamn dangerous..." His shoulders slump and he buries his face in his hands. "I don't know how to not go after him. I don't know how to control that part of me."

Ronan's hand finds the back of Gansey's neck again and squeezes it hard. He looks so un-Gansey-like right now, a bare mess of frayed wires and worry and too much loving concern for person to handle. "You'll figure it out," Ronan says. "And Parrish will figure his shit out too." He rubs his thumb across Gansey's knuckles again to remind him that they're all multiple parts that make up a more important whole. "In the meantime, you can take it out on me." He's seen the way Gansey is soothed by being able to take the chaotic mess of Ronan and hold him down until he's quiet and contained again. "You know I don't mind. You know it - helps."

Gansey shakes his head frantically. "I can't. I couldn't do that to you, not now. I would– I don't trust myself to be in control of me, let alone you," he admits. "I won't hurt you like that."

"Jesus, I didn't mean right now," Ronan says, angry at himself for coming across like that. "Not right now. I just meant–" He doesn't know what he meant. All he knows is he needs to fix this. _Hold it together._ He shakes his head, and turns his body a little more toward Gansey, letting go of his neck, then his hand after another few seconds. "Lie down. On your stomach.”

Gansey gives him a quizzical look, but he does as he's told, curling in on himself as he moves his legs over the bed and then uncurling into the mattress. He presses the side of his face into the pillow. Ronan waits for him to get settled and then climbs on top of him, settling his weight over Gansey's hips. He presses the palms of his hands on either side of Gansey's spine, starting at the curve of his lower back and working his way up. Gansey's body is so tense that it feels like kneading granite, but Ronan is persistent, moving slowly with Gansey's breaths. "You're okay," he says, low enough that it's almost a whisper. "And I'm okay. And Parrish is going to be fine."

Gansey groans into his pillow as Ronan digs into his back. It sounds like it hurts quite a bit – Ronan's hands are nowhere near as gentle as his voice, but something in Gansey’s posture is working itself out the deeper Ronan’s thumbs dig into his muscles. "How do you know?" he asks quietly. 

Ronan moves his way up to Gansey's shoulders, considering. "Because Cabeswater will protect him. Because we've gotten through a hell of a lot worse than a minor injury." He rolls his fingertips into Gansey's deltoids. "Because if all else fails I'll dream up something to fix it." He doesn't know if he could actually dream a medical cure, but why not? He files it away to think about later, focusing back on Gansey.

They all seem like fair points, especially the one about Cabeswater. Cabeswater would protect itself long before anything could manage to hurt Adam. Gansey seems like he wants to agree, but saying "that's true" and "you're right" always tastes like concession to fate. Instead, he just reaches up and grabs two fistfuls of sheet near his head. Ronan's thumb finds a large, especially tight knot and he whimpers. One of Ronan's hands briefly moves up to stroke through Gansey's hair and then he's back to his shoulders. "You still with me?"

Gansey nods shortly. "Yeah." He turns his face back into the pillow, baring the back of his neck, and lets out a long sigh. Ronan pauses for a second behind him, and then keeps digging into the spaces under his shoulder blades. His shoulders are where he carries most of his stress, and it's clearly painful to have them unwound, enough that he can't really register anything other than Ronan's fingers. Then again, that was the point.

Ronan methodically unknots Gansey's back until he can run his hands over it without feeling bars of iron beneath his skin, and then he leans down to drape himself across Gansey, burying his face in Gansey's neck. He wraps his arms beneath his shoulders in sort of a reverse hug, and squeezes him tightly. Gansey automatically curls his hand around Ronan's forearm, stroking the ripple of a muscle with his thumb. He turns his head a little until light reaches his face again, and asks, "Is this how it is for you?"

Ronan breathes in minty air - the scent always seems to permeate Gansey's pillow - and turns his head on Gansey's shoulder. Gansey's voice doesn't sound like a stranger's anymore, and Ronan hugs him a little tighter. "Dunno. What's it like?"

“Chaotic. Frenetic. Angry. Like you have to move or else you'll die, but you don't know what direction to go," Gansey says softly. "And then... still. And solid, and everything you were scared of gets forced out of your head. Is that what it's like for you?"

Ronan lets out a long breath against Gansey's hair. If he could, he'd look him in the face calculatingly, search for the depth of his feelings in his eyes and drink them in. He settles for running his fingers along the bits of Gansey's arm he can reach. "Sounds about right."

Gansey nods. "I can see why you like it." His shoulder pop as he lowers his arm from its position above his head and he wraps his hands carefully around Ronan's. "Thank you. For showing me. It helped." There's a bit of a flush on his cheeks as he turns his face back into the pillow. "I'm sorry you had to see that, but it did help."

Ronan shakes his head against Gansey’s shoulder. “I didn’t have to see shit. I just knew what you needed, and it wasn’t hard to do it. Not for you.”

Gansey gives a tiny smile. “Then you know what it’s like for me too now.”

Ronan feels something warm settle in his chest. “Guess I do,” he mutters, and tugs Gansey closer.

Gansey shivers underneath him, but Ronan can tell it’s not from anything bad. “Maybe, sometime…sometime when Parrish isn’t getting attacked…maybe you could do it again.”

Gansey’s voice is open and honest, nervous but hopeful. Ronan runs his hand along Gansey’s arm to squeeze at his wrist again. Gansey tenses and rolls a little under him, like he’d been waiting for it. “Would you even want someone to do that to you? Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d let anyone do.”

“For you, maybe I’d let you,” Gansey says.

“Well, then. Maybe I could,” he murmurs into Gansey’s shoulder. “For you, maybe I could.”


End file.
